


The Upper Hand

by gamerfic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming In Pants, Developing Relationship, F/M, Frottage, Post-Canon, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-25 17:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: An assassination attempt inspires King Alistair to teach his wife Anora the basics of self-defense. He doesn't know how much she knows already.





	The Upper Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DragonRider1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonRider1/gifts).

All things considered, Anora's would-be assassin was luckier than he was skilled. Getting hired as a servant to the monarch you want to kill was the oldest trick in the book, and had he stayed on the staff for longer than three days the spymaster would undoubtedly have sniffed him out and quietly dealt with him. Even if he had evaded detection, an experienced man would have known enough to keep his head down and bide his time until the perfect moment to strike. This assassin was not an experienced man. The first time he passed Anora in a corridor and saw she was alone, he pounced, cutting off her scream with a heavy palm across her mouth while his other hand fumbled a dagger against her throat.

The assassin might have succeeded, were it not for one small detail: Anora _wasn't _alone, not really. She and Alistair had departed the throne room together, only for Alistair to catch his foot against the threshold and stumble, spilling the entire armload of ledgers and scrolls he'd been pretending to consult during their meeting with Fergus Cousland. Anora had sighed as he bent to gather up the scattered documents, and continued down the hall without him. Alistair didn't fault her for not stopping to help. In the four months since the Landsmeet, she'd made it abundantly clear how much she resented being saddled with an ignorant, unprepared husband ruling by her side in a kingdom that should have been hers alone by right. Truth be told, Alistair didn't really want to be there either. But Warden Brosca had believed it was right for Alistair and Anora to rule together - and after the sacrifice Warden Brosca had made to defeat the Archdemon, no one was inclined to question his judgment.

So it was that Alistair came around the corner just in time to see the assassin bringing the dagger to Anora's neck. "Guards!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, but he couldn't be sure they'd reach her in time. He had to intervene. Thankfully, his days on the battlefield were not so far behind him that he'd lost his fighter's reflexes. He lunged for the blade, praying he'd be faster than his foe.

He was. The call for help drew the assassin's focus away from Anora for just long enough. Alistair closed the remaining distance in a heartbeat and seized the other man's wrist with both hands, bending it painfully backwards and forcing him to drop the dagger. The assassin lashed out again, aiming a kick at Alistair's crotch. Alistair dodged, but lost his grip on the assassin's wrist in the process.

The assassin was smart enough not to let himself be drawn into a lengthy brawl. No longer restrained, he turned and fled down the hall. Perhaps he had forgotten just how recently Alistair had trained and fought as a templar and a Grey Warden, or perhaps the whole plan was wishful thinking from the start. Either way, Alistair soon caught up with him and tackled him to the ground. The harder he struggled, the more firmly Alistair held him down. "It's over," Alistair told him. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

"It can't be." The assassin craned his neck to look back at Alistair. His nose was bloodied where it had struck the cold flagstones. "You're the only true king, Your Majesty. That bitch should have died alongside her father. I may be the first to say it, but rest assured I won't be the last."

The palace guard showed up then, and hauled the assassin away to do whatever it was the spymaster liked to do with people like him. As with so many other things in Alistair's new life, the details of it didn't bear thinking about too closely. It was only then that Alistair realized that in the rush of battle, he'd never bothered to find out what happened to Anora. He found her leaning against a nearby column, looking pale and startled but physically unhurt. "Are you injured?" he asked her, and though he knew his tone was gentle she sighed and walked away.

That night, Alistair lay awake in the bed he did not share with his wife and replayed the day's events again and again. He couldn't shake the sight of Anora in the assassin's rough grip, or forget what the man had said. _I won't be the last._ If he had moved just a little slower out of the throne room, or if he had chosen to go in a different direction when he departed, things would have turned out very differently. _I won't always be there to protect her, _he thought. _The guards won't be either. I have to do something to make sure she's always safe. It's my duty._

When morning dawned, a bleary-eyed Alistair found Anora at breakfast in her sitting room. She paused in the midst of cutting up a fried egg and looked up at him quizzically. "My lady," he began. "What happened yesterday...It's bothering me."

Anora raised her eyebrows. "As I understand it, the assassin has been dealt with."

"He has, but I don't think he acted alone. We both know Ferelden is still deeply divided, even after…" He swallowed hard. "Even after our marriage. Other people like him may make attempts on your life in the future."

"The palace has many guards to defend against such men. Do you think them incompetent?"

"Certainly not! But the guards can't be everywhere at once. And Warden Brosca always said it's good to be prepared for every possibility."

"What are you suggesting?"

Alistair shifted his weight from one foot to the other. By custom and law alike, Anora was his equal, but he thought he'd never stop feeling like a foolish, ill-prepared child in her presence. "The Grey Wardens taught me methods of unarmed self-defense - techniques that can disarm or subdue a larger and stronger opponent. I'd like to teach some of them to you. I mean, only if you're interested."

She regarded him for long quiet moments, her face blank and inscrutable. Perhaps someday he'd become more adept at reading the tiny shifts in her expressions and understanding the thoughts and emotions behind them, but after four months of marriage she remained largely a mystery to him. "Very well," she said at last. "I'm willing to learn what you want to teach."

Late morning found them alone together in a training room in the palace barracks. Soft golden light filtered down from windows set high in the whitewashed walls, illuminating an assortment weapon racks and armor stands and training dummies. A thick layer of rushes cushioned the floor beneath woven mats. Alistair had changed into the same loose and threadbare garments he'd always donned to train in hand-to-hand combat with the Wardens, but Anora had arrived in the same corseted velvet dress she'd been wearing at breakfast. It seemed more than a little impractical. "Are you sure that's what you want to wear for this?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at her voluminous skirts.

"If another assassin attacks me in the hall, do you think they'll pause to let me slip into something more comfortable first?"

"Right. Of course not." He felt his cheeks growing hot, and looked away. "Then what do you say we get started?"

They began with some light stretching to loosen their muscles for the exertion ahead. Then Alistair found a practice knife, weighted like the real thing but with a dulled edge, and passed it to Anora. She listened patiently as he explained the process of sidestepping an attack, taking hold of the attacker's forearm with both hands, and twisting it until they could no longer keep their grip on the weapon. He walked her through the process slowly and carefully, always being certain not to use too much force against her and injure her inadvertently. Then he took the knife back from her and squared his stance. "All right. Give it a try."

He didn't know why he'd expected her to be tentative, unwilling to make the aggressive moves that hand-to-hand combat required. She was no such thing. He'd scarcely finished speaking when she lunged for him, dexterously ducking under his half-hearted slash and disarming him in the next heartbeat. The practice knife thudded softly on the mat. "Very good," Alistair said with a smile into the deafening silence that followed. "Would you like to practice it again, or…?"

"No need," said Anora flatly. "What more did you plan to show me?"

"Well...I could show you how to break free if someone grabs you. May I?" She nodded, and he let his fingers close around her slender wrist. "So. This one might seem a bit backwards at first, but what you want to do is - "

She didn't wait for the rest of the explanation. She planted her feet, leaned toward him, and bent her elbow until her arm slipped effortlessly out of his grip. "Actually, I see you already know that one," he finished weakly.

Anora's eyes were flinty and her tone held nothing but ice. "How do you think I got away from that young man in the first place, Alistair? Do you honestly believe yesterday was the first time anyone has ever tried to kill me? Do you think your brother would have neglected to ensure that I could defend myself if the need arose? Or, for that matter, my father?"

Alistair had known neither Cailan nor Loghain well, but he knew enough about them to understand at once how foolish he had been. _Even worse, I was so focused on the assassin yesterday that I forgot about her as soon as I started fighting him. I'm lucky she could take care of herself! _He knew he should apologize at once and walk away lest he dig the hole any deeper. But when he opened his mouth, what came out instead was, "Show me what you can do."

Astonishment broke through the steely serenity of Anora's expression. "Why?" she demanded, sounding taken aback.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, it's only...You and I are all but strangers, but I've heard so much about you from other people that it's like...I came here with a certain portrait of you in my mind. But others painted it for me. You didn't have any say in it. This is the first thing I've learned about you that doesn't match what I thought I knew about you. So I'm curious, I guess. And if we're going to have to be married to each other, maybe I should do better at understanding who you really are, rather than letting other people tell me who you are."

He thought he saw the tension in her neck and shoulders relax - not entirely, but enough. "Then I will," she said.

It only took Alistair a few more minutes to understand how gravely he'd underestimated Anora. No matter what position he attempted - joint locks, choke holds, grabbing her from the front or from behind - she slipped free of every one. Whoever had trained her - Loghain, perhaps? - had a deep understanding of her capabilities and limitations, and had taught her accordingly. As slender and small as she was, she would never win out on the basis of reach or brute strength. Nor was she likely to prevail in any sort of knock-down, drag-out fight. But she could use weight and leverage to her advantage, and aim for vital areas with no fear of who might deem her dishonorable. If she took advantage of her unassuming appearance to lull her opponents into a false sense of security and struck decisively at the perfect time, she could save herself from danger and buy herself enough time to escape.

Just when Alistair thought they were finished, much to his surprise, Anora lay down on the mat at his feet. She was sweating and breathing hard, just like him, and he'd never seen so much color in her pale cheeks. "Hold me down," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hold me down. There's one more thing I want to show you. It's not very practical, so I've never had much chance to try it. But I want to see if I can still pull it off."

"If you're sure you want me to." Anora nodded.

Alistair knelt down on the floor next to her and pressed his palms against her shoulders. A real assailant would never be so gentle, but he couldn't bring himself to use real force against her. "No," she said, "you need to be on top of me." He swung one leg over her torso, wondering what he was getting himself into.

It happened so quickly he could barely process it. Her hands shot up to trap one of his arms against her chest. At the same time, she hooked one leg around his ankle and rolled them both to the side. Suddenly she was on top of him, straddling him. His hands were somewhere near his head and she was holding them down by the wrists. Her breasts were steadily heaving where their tops peeked out of her bodice, and her blonde hair was starting to come free of its braided crown to make a wispy aura catching sunlight around her head. All at once he became aware that his cock had gone half-erect at some point in the very recent past, and that she could surely feel every inch of it through the thin linen of his trousers. He tried to apologize, but only an embarrassing strangled groan came out.

Anora wasn't getting up. She could have stood up and walked away at any time, just like Alistair could have lifted her off of him if he wanted to. But neither of them moved. _Actually, _he thought distantly, _that isn't precisely true. _He was getting harder by the second, and there was no way she didn't know it - but instead of avoiding his touch, she was rocking slowly and rhythmically against him. Their marriage was as of yet unconsummated; he'd never been close to anyone like this before. Another moan escaped his lips, louder and more shameless this time.

The motion of Anora's hips grew faster and stronger, but she spoke to him as if nothing was happening. "That thing with the knife," she said, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, "I don't know who taught it to you, but it's very impractical. In a real fight, you're more likely to get stabbed than pull it off. If you can, it's smarter just to run away."

"My lady," Alistair began, but the words trailed off into a series of gasps before he could gather his wits to say them. His pelvis was lifting involuntarily off the floor now, rubbing his throbbing erection mindlessly against her as she continued to match his every move. A familiar sensation he'd only ever felt before from the friction of his own hand was inexorably building in his groin. He wondered if he should warn her what was about to happen, as if she didn't already know. "Oh, Maker! Ah! I'm going to - "

Somehow she changed the angle and tempo of her movements. The variation in pressure put him over the edge. He threw his head back and cried out as he violently came in his pants. As the sweet, shuddering aftershocks faded, he realized with a start that Anora was still rubbing herself against him with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. He sucked in a sharp breath as her crotch grazed his oversensitive, softening, still-twitching cock.

She paused at the bottom of her next stroke and looked down at him with dilated, hazy eyes. "Please," she murmured, and _Maker's Breath_ he felt his loins stir again at the realization of what she wanted from him.

"I want you to," he mumbled, "but...Too much."

"Oh." With a rustle she adjusted herself, shifting to the side to position his thigh between her legs and rearranging her skirts. He watched her as she rutted against him shamelessly, feeling his own desire surge back to life as she took her pleasure from him. When she finally came, the only signs were a sudden pause, a straightening of her back, and a long deep sigh as the erratic jerks of her hips slowed and then stopped.

Anora got up from the floor unsteadily, smoothing her skirts back into place. She was still flushed and breathing heavily. "Thank you for the lesson," she said in a wavering near-whisper. Then she turned and nearly ran out of the barracks.

Alistair couldn't bring himself to move yet. To his shame, he was fully erect again, and he wanted nothing more than to chase Anora down and ask her exactly what it all meant. Something told him that this wasn't the time or the place. He reached into his trousers and closed his own fist around himself, letting the image of Anora's arched back and parted lips fill his imagination. A few firm tugs and he was spilling into his own palm. He wiped his sticky hand clean on a towel and held it in front of him as he left in a vain attempt to conceal the mess he'd made. At least his mind was clear enough now to give him some idea of what to do next.

Later that night, when the palace was quiet and dark, Alistair knocked on the door to Anora's room. She opened it to find him holding out a tray containing a bottle of her favorite wine as recommended by the palace sommelier, two glasses, and a plate of the cook's delicious chocolates. "I want to try this again," he blurted out.

Anora looked skeptical. "What do you mean?"

"Earlier today...I shouldn't have assumed you didn't know how to take care of yourself. It was patronizing of me. I'm sorry. I want to learn more about what you already know, so I'll be less likely to do it again. That is, if you'll let me."

"I accept your apology. And I forgive you."

"Oh! Good. Well, as long as I'm here, I was wondering...Why didn't you say something sooner when I started trying to teach you something you already knew?"

Anora was silent for what felt like forever. "I wanted to learn more about you too," she finally admitted, "but I wasn't sure how to begin. Your idea seemed as good a beginning as any."

"I'll venture it worked," Alistair said with a smile.

She rewarded him with a soft but genuine laugh as she pushed the door open wider and took the tray from his hands. "It did," she said. "Come in."


End file.
